Page 24 of Bad Boy Billionaire Protector

Frowning, I sat down on the bed and wondered what to do. It didn’t make any sense that he would disappear in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t have gone without waking me, surely?

Beginning to worry, I went into the living area and sat on the couch. “Christos!” I called out, even though I knew he wasn’t in the apartment. Had he gone for a walk in the middle of the night? No. That would be strange.

I sat forward with my elbows on my knees and tried to think what to do. The apartment felt eerie now that I was here on my own. It was so strange that he had left without saying anything to me, without waking me up.

I went back through to the bedroom and switched on the light. His side of the bed was all messed up. He hadn’t even bothered to move the comforter back into position. His phone was gone though, which meant he must have it with him, wherever he was.

I went over to the other side of the bed and picked up my phone from the nightstand. I tried to call him but it simply dialed out then went to voicemail. I hesitated before leaving a message. “Christos, it’s me, Amber. I woke up and you were gone. Where are you? Can you call me when you get this message, please?”

Carrying my phone with me in case he called, I went into the living area and looked around to see if anything could give me an idea of his whereabouts. I went over to his desk and saw his bag. Completely aware that I was invading his privacy, I picked up the bag and dumped its contents out on the kitchen island.

There was a black folio which I opened.

I froze.

Inside the folio were pictures and pages of information about young men and women who had committed suicide at Stanford over the last three years. What a ghoulish thing to have, and certainly not something I would expect a Classics student to have. I turned the pages and my heart felt like it skipped a beat when I saw Adam’s face looking up at me. What in the hell was this?

I read through the file on Adam and noted it was stamped Classified. Why would Christos have these documents? It was all so strange. None of it made sense.

Behind the initial documents were police reports for all the deaths. Most of them had been ruled suspicious, and not suicide. I looked up and thought about what that would mean. Someone was killing the students at Stanford. And there was more. There was information about The Order. So they thought the secret society was involved. I felt like I was living a nightmare.

I shivered as I read the files from front to back.

Why on earth would a Classics student have all this? What was Christos up to? Was collecting such information a pet project of his? I was starting to feel scared.

I put the folio back in the bag and went to his desk. It had a small drawer. Inside the drawer was more paperwork.

And a gun.

I looked at the gun in shock. Just what the fuck was going on here?

I went to pick it up but then thought better of it. I had never seen a gun up this close. Was it loaded? With my luck, I could see myself accidentally shooting my foot or some other body part.

Just who the hell was Christos Ianthos? It was clear there was something he wasn’t telling me. He wasn’t who he said he was, that was for sure.

I paced around the living area and tried to figure out what to do. I couldn’t wrap my head around all the things I’d just discovered. They weren’t exactly well hidden, so he wasn’t thinking he would be found out.

Not knowing what to do, I looked at my phone and considered calling Jackson, my older brother. We weren’t super close because as he was 10 years older than me and he wasn’t around much after he went off to college. But he was always someone I looked up to and who I know he cares a lot about me. He was a super nice guy and had always supported me. He lived in Boston, three hours ahead of here. Would he still be awake at this time? What time was it? I checked my phone. It was quarter past three, making it quarter past six over there. I decided to try anyway. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Amb, what’s going on, sis? Something wrong?”

“Hey Jackson, I’m so sorry to call you like this. Did I wake you?”

“Nah. I was doing some paperwork for work. What is it? You sound freaked out.”

“I am freaked out. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s apartment – “

“You have a boyfriend?!” He interrupted, shock in his voice.

“Umm, yeah. I’ll explain later.” I know I had some explaining to do to catch him up to speed since the last time he saw me, I was in the midst of some serious depression.

“Okay, sorry to interrupt. Go on.”

“Anyway, I spent the night at my boyfriend’s apartment and woke up 20 minutes ago and he’s not here.”

“What do you mean he’s not there?”

“He’s vanished. Without waking me up or telling me where he’s going.”

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